The Elder Scrolls Kalheim
by ElderScrollsGeekBAH
Summary: It is the fifth era, and all is at peace, until everything changes. Riroden Orkraft is called to war, and a slumbering evil awakens.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

* * *

On the eve of dark times  
Evil shall reign  
Fear shall fill the new land  
Death will come  
War soon approaches and  
with it comes blood  
Night falls upon the land  
Death falls upon humanity  
The war shall begin  
and end with a IV  
When the sun rises again  
Night shall be vanquished  
Dawn will come

The loud clash of steel smashing against steel echoes eerily throughout the blood-stained Field of Souls. The Kingdom of Heltreid is at war, no, all of Kalheim itself is; a war that has claimed the lives of many. Pain-filled cries of sheer, mortifying terror fill the desolate air as one after another, men on both sides of this violence fall, killed by the blades of their enemies; enemies who at one time they considered to be their brothers and sisters. It is the seventeenth of Mid-Year, 4e 313.

The armies of Vampire Lord and acting Grand King Calcifer Blood-Omen have advanced, taking over the whole of the Kalheinian province. They have forcefully murdered the innocent and demanded loyalty undeserved. At their opposite is the army of the rightful Grand King and the leader of the rebellion Lorcan Bren-Gard IV; a man of honor and respect.

The war has been going on for what seems to be an eternity now, and this battle alone is reaching it's third day. Night is nearing it's end, and the sun is set to rise. The armies begin their retreat, halting the war for the night in order to tend to their fallen. An agreement between the two leaders that some disagree with, but has already saved the lives of many.

However, even though his men fall back, returning to their camps, one man stands there with purpose. He knows that the fight is not yet over, and that things will only get worse if it is not finished now. His hair cut short, black as the sky above and a matching beard, Lorcan stands across the battlefield from his blood-hungry enemy, staring into the eyes that glow in the night. The silhouette of Calcifer Blood-Omen stands before him.

"Calcifer!" the man roars out into the emptying battlefield. The shout is filled with emotion; pouring everything he has into it. Warriors on both sides turn their heads to the scene, surprised by the man's sudden outburst. His blade brandished, the knight stands there prepared to continue the fight.

Only feet away from him, Calcifer Blood-Omen stands there, a smirk upon his face. His sunken, ash-grey skin shows the affect of the vampiric disease running through his veins. His actions have become infamous; the slaughtering of so many innocent lives. A once proud Dunmer man, distorted by his wish for ultimate power and dominance.

As the thousands of men stand there watching, the great vampire begins to turn. His features distort as his body changes. His armor shatters as his body grows in size. His flesh bubbles and grows, creating a shape that brings fear to many. Claws sprout from his fingers and fangs from his gums. His eyes become blood-shot and his head morphs as though the boned beneath it have changed their shape. All that remains of his clothes are his leggings and a blood-red cape hanging down behind him. A sound of terror fills the air as the dreaded vampire lord is revealed.

However, Lorcan stands his ground, unaffected by the hideous transformation of his opponent. For he had seen this before, during his first fight with the monstrous being. He knows it's strength, and the powers it holds. This is a fight he's been waiting for since the war began, a fight he has prepared himself to win.

"Me and you Calcifer! Let's end this war right now! How many more need to die!?"

Laughing, the vampire nods and replies, "Agreed. The useless shedding of blood serves us no purpose. It is wasted. Whoever wins takes Kalheim."

Smiling, Lorcan nods. The menacing creature across from his laughs, genuine interest in his eyes. He wonders exactly what this lowly man can do. None have stood before him with this kind of bravery before. He respects that. And so he steps forward, validating the challenge. The warriors call to their shield-siblings and everything, even time itself, seems to stop as the two strongest warriors in all the province walk towards each other.

Every man and woman on the battlefield watches in heated anticipation as the two close the distance between each other, slowly approaching with every step. Then, in the blink of an eye, it happens. The gigantic form of the vampiric beast shatters, and thousands of vampire bats shoot forward at a speed unheard of. The knight raises his great-sword and yells out, "For Kalheim!" before rushing the unformed creature.

He swings his blade with the force of a true warrior, and comes into direct contact with the claws of the now rematerializing Calcifer. A shock wave of pure, unadulterated power shoots throughout the surrounding area, and those standing by begin to feel a cold shiver pass down the center of their spines. Such power, such terrifying, amazing power. The two break apart and the demonic creature releases an evil laugh.

"Is this the extent of the Imperial race!?"

With another roar, Lorcan jumps back as his opponent stands there, amused. He then rushes again, swinging the blade with amazing speed. However, Calcifer dodges it quickly and takes advantage of the moment of weakness in his opponent. He flies forward, ramming Lorcan and sending him flying back again, smashing right through a catapult the rebellion had set up.

The shattered wood pierces the man's armor, and blood squirts out at various points on his body. He cries out, and the vampire approaches again, not allowing Bren-Gard to make another move. He lands on Lorcan, stomping hard onto his ribs, shattering them with the greatest of ease. Suddenly, the warrior unsheaths a hidden blade and swings it.

Narrowly escaping the attack, Calcifer roars angrily and bares his fangs. Bren-Gard climbs to his feet, the long sword held firm in his grip. Screaming, the vampire runs with vicious intent at his opponent, but the Imperial is too fast, thrusting the blade right at his enemy. Everything stops, and the faces of all watching turns to that of pure shock.

The vampire lord, unable to restrain his momentum in time, runs face first into the sharpened blade of the sword. Blood shoots out as the blade makes it's way through the front of the face and out the back. Silence fills the battlefield, but only for a short moment. The villain suddenly screams out through what's left of his mouth and reaches forward at blinding speed.

The monsters claws tear into Lorcan's chest, slicing right into the flesh and spilling blood everywhere. Within a second, the vampire rips his opponents heart clean out. Those watching stare open-mouthed in utter disbelief as both men fall, dead. The war is finally over, but has come with the deaths of both armies leaders. By rule of first lethal strike, Kalheim once more belongs to the Empire.

The sun begins to rise over the hills, and the remaining vampires retreat. The soldiers of the rebellion set the body of Calcifer Blood-Omen ablaze, destroying the remains. It's a bitter sweet victory, for despite the death of the acting Grand King, they've lost their rightful leader. They had such a hope for the future, and the man who gave it to them has sacrificed his life and shall never see the fruits of his labor.

Such sorrow fills the battlefield as everyone begins to walk away towards the camps, mourning Lorcan Bren-Gard IV's untimely demise. He ended this war, as the legendary prophecy fortold; the war would begin and end with a IV. Light shines on the new age, and only one is left standing among the blood and victimized bodies. The daughter of the fallen Lorcan, Ramedi, looks on at the sunrise and smiles. Her father's unfaltering heroism has made this all possible, and he will be remembered for all of time. The vampires have been defeated, and once again, Kalheim is at peace.


	2. Chapter 01: A Good Elf Goes To War

Chapter 01: A Good Elf Goes To War (8th of Mid-Year - 5e 152)

* * *

The cool Kalheinian air blows briskly through the streets of Heltreid city. The sun shines brightly in the center of the noontime sky, and the hundred upon thousands of citizens walk about the streets enjoying this beautiful Mid-Year day. From the Heltreid Gardens to the shopping district, everyone is enjoying themselves and having a good time. Walking along the north streets by the Arena, an older man by the name of Ciro Irkain passes by, whistling a tune as he continues on, carrying a long case.

"Good day Ciro," a woman calls as she leaves the arena shop, carrying a brand new red battle raiment. Ciro smiles and nods, not wanting to let go of the package in his hands, and returns the friendly greeting.

"Good day Yrma, did you see of that Viiren guy from North Shore?"

"I did," she replies as she stops to chat the older man up, "heard he betrayed the Grand King's army."

"Yeah," Ciro replies with a laugh, "but I'll talk more with you later. I have business to attend to.

He smirks and holds the case up, showing it to the woman before him. She nods and wishes him good fortune before continuing on. Ciro waves her farewell, then turns and move on. Passing by the shop, he comes upon a small store in the back corner, right against the walls of the city.

The building is old, a relic from the past. The bricks used to build it have begun to fade and the windows are cracked and dusty. A sign hangs above the rickety, saloon-like doorway with the words "Shop" on it, which is noticed by the man, who smiles as he backs into them, opening the doors and heading in.

The inside of the shop is as dusty and dirty as the out. Some of the shops corners are covered in cobwebs, and the windows let in little light, causing a dark, spooky atmosphere. However, despite the dilapidated appearance of the shop, the counters are covered in gleaming artifacts the likes of which this man had never seen. Swords, shield, armor, and so much more. Some of the most amazing objects imaginable. This is definitely the right place.

Behind the main counter is a curtain leading into another room. To Ciro's surprise, it suddenly opens. A young male Bosmer clothed in an astounding blue garment walks out. A smirk spreads across his mouth as he sees the man before him, holding the long case. He continues forward and stops behind the counter, nodding to Ciro, who then puts his case down on the counter.

"Well, Ciro right?"

"That's me," the man replies, holding out his hand. The Bosmer shakes it and begins to unlock his customer's case, "you're Riroden Orkraft, correct?"

"Let's focus on why you're here," he replies, pulling an amazing sword from the case. A ruby-hilted beauty with a black blade. It's in perfect shape and even has the initials U.I. on it, "Ulorn Irkain, if I'm not mistaken. This sword fought in the battle at the Field of Souls if I'm not mistaken. An amazing blade indeed."

"It's been passed down through my family for a long time now," Ciro responds, smiling as he leans over the counter, "I honestly can't believe I'm selling it. It seems surreal, but the family needs the septims."

"Hard times eh?" Riroden asks, nodding as he continues to look over the blade, "well I can ease your fears a little. This blade is definitely worth something. I'll give you two thousand for it."

The man grabs at his chest, feigning a heart attack out of shock. He had never expected to get that much out of it. He agrees to the amount with a tear in his eye and thanks the Bosmeri man full-heartedly. Then, after receiving a pouch with the promised septims, he walks out with a much needed spring in his step.

Meanwhile, back in the shop, Riroden smiles as he takes the sword and displays it on a counter covered in all sorts of rare swords, beside a two-handed greatsword called the Bloodskal Blade. He then returns to the back room, in which is a table. On said table rests a Dwarven shield and a bottle of polish. Sitting down, the elf smiles and begins to continue polishing the shield, when he hears the doors open once again.

"Riroden!"

That voice, he knows it. It's the court messenger of the Emerald Castle. What could he be doing here? Something didn't happen to the Queen, did it? Rushing from the room, he sees that he is indeed correct, coming almost face to face with the portly little man. Breathing heavily, the messenger catches his breath before delivering the news he was sent for.

"Riroden, Queen Roma has requested your presence at once! She says it's of the utmost importance!"

"She's ok though, right? She never sends for me like this."

"Oh, don't worry Riroden. Your mother is doing well. For some reason, she wishes for you to go to the castle right away though."

"Of course, and thank you," Riroden replies, patting the man on the shoulder and sending him to tell the Queen that he'll be there. Sighing, he then proceeds to go to the back room where he locks everything up. He then leaves the shop, locking the doors behind him as he heads into the back street of north Heltreid.

Leaving the back alley, he begins his trek down the street, knowing to head to the castle straight away and not take the time to return to his home. The crowd of people walking down the way has increased since he last passed through, earlier this morning. The sun shines brighter than usual as well. He doesn't think much of it, however, only thinking to himself what the Queen could possibly want with him.

The screams of wild cheering breaks his concentration as he passes by the arena and nears the orphanage. Stopping, Riroden stares at the windows of the old building, remembering his short time spent there, prior to his adoption by Queen Roma Stav-Bringer, the Queen of Heltreid Kingdom. It was just after his parents death. They had sacrificed their lives serving in Heltreid's royal army, protecting the land they held dear. He respects what they did, despite not wishing to follow in their footsteps. His interests remain firmly in mercantile and rare artifacts.

A sigh escapes his throat as he averts his gaze from the building, moving on past it down the road. At this point he can see the statue of the legendary Lorcan Bren-Gard IV, the hero who saved Kalheim and possibly all of Nirn from the vampyric Calcifer Blood-Omen. The giant, golden man stands there regally, shining in the bright sunlight. Beside the statue gleams another amazing sight, the Emerald Castle.

Built entirely of emerald and stone, the castle stands erect on the edge of the city, towering high above everyone below. To the east are the Queen's gardens, as well as a beautiful courtyard often visited by the royals and common rabble alike. The phenomenal sight is truly beautiful at this time a day, and as the elf approaches, he truly understands the glory of it's history.

"Orkraft!" the nearest guard exclaims, seeing the young elf approach, "My word has it been a long time! You never visit anymore. Your mother has become quite sorrowful."

"Well, I'm back now," Riroden replies, passing the Nordic man by, walking into the giant open doors of the palace in his wake. The inside of the castle is as extravagant and amazing as the out. Decor the likes of which most people would kill for, and flowers as far as the eye can see. Paintings line the walls and ruby rugs cover the floors. He walks up the steps, entering the throne room. Before him stands Tetna Javell, the Queen's steward. Her arms are crossed and she has a wild grin plastered on her face.

"Welcome back Riroden, the Queen will see you now."

At that moment, the doors behind the throne open up, and standing there in the threshold is a beautiful, red-haired woman with gorgeous gold and emerald robes. A crown rests upon her head and a scepter in her hands. She has the look of royalty. However, as her eyes spot the young elf now kneeling down before her, she laughs and runs forward, gripping her son in a hug.

"Welcome home Riroden, my son."

The two release each other, and the Queen takes her throne. Her Nordic features shine in the light of the hall as she smiles genuinly at Riroden. He smiles back and asks his mother the reasoning for him being there. At that moment, it's as if a chill sweeps through the room, cutting into the spines of all there. Tetna looks down solemnly, and even Queen Roma's bright smile has faded. Everyone has gone silent, and Riroden can sense the tension in the room. Something is wrong, VERY wrong.

"My son, Helbar is dead."

Helbar Fire-Catcher, the general of the Heltreid Kingdom army is dead!? The man who took out a dozen frost trolls by himself!? The man who defeated an enemy army after having his body turned into a pin-cushion for arrows of all varieties!? This is a man who has done it all, who has survived it all, and he's dead!? What in Talos' name could've killed him, Riroden wonders as he stands there, looking at the solemn faces of his friends and family.

"Grand King Lorcan Bren-Gard Crom II summoned me two days ago," Queen Roma quietly tells her son, "Kalheim is under attack. Vampires have come out of hiding and are trying to attack the province. We don't know why, but what we do know is that there's too many of them. The Grand King needs our assistance, otherwise Kalheim will fall."

Though he fears that he already knows the answer, Riroden swallows hard and asks, "And what is it you requested my presence for?"

"Riroden, I need you to take Helbar's place. I know it's sudden and that you are not a warrior. However, I knew your parents. There were great elves Riroden, the best soldiers we had. They died honorably and hold a special place in this kingdom's history forever. Siran and Kalaila Orkraft are heroes, and it's time for you to prove that they did not die in vain. It's time for you to defend this land."

The silence in the room is deafening. One could hear a lockpick drop, and it's unnerving. A bead of sweat rolls down the elf's forehead, and his eyes bore into the very soul of his mother. He knows how serious she is, and how desperately she wishes for him to do this. But he isn't a warrior, she said it herself. He's a merchant, a simple collector of rare artifacts. He has training in swordsmanship, but only to know the products he sells. He has never utilized these skills in the field.

Queen Roma sees his expression, and knows he will not refuse. She can see his displeasure in the situation, though knows of her sons love for his kingdom. She knows he could never let Heltreid, or Kalheim itself, down. She motions to Tetra, who nods and pulls a crimson cloth wrapped item from a case, handing it softly to the elf before her. He takes it and stares, removing the cloth slowly, and that's when he sees it. An amazing, one-of-a-kind sword. A phenomenal blade of the highest caliber, one the likes of which he had never seen before.

"This is the Talliesllison," Queen Roma tells her son, a tear now rolling down her cheek, "the sword your mother wielded in battle. It is imbued with a secret magicka the likes of which not even my greatest mage has been able to descipher. Your mother left it for you, and it's time you fulfilled her wishes. Take this." She holds a note out for Riroden, so he lets the sword down cautiously and takes the note stained with blood, reading it aloud.

"Dear son. You will unfortunately never know what it's like to have a real mother and father. The enemies have become too powerful, and I am writing this with my last breath. I love you Riroden, even more than I love Kalheim. I entrust to you a dying wish. If our land is ever in need of salvation, I want you to take this blade and become a hero for our people. Whether it be for Bosmer or Nord, for Dunmer or even Khajiit, we are all family in this land. Take this sword in your hand and save the land I gave my life for. And Riroden, live. Live and love, for you only get one chance to do so. Goodbye my son. I'll see you again one day."

The dripping sound of tears hitting the marble floor beneath him fills the hall. All are silent, watching as the proud elf, reduced to his knees, stares at the note with love and thankfulness for a mother who truly loved him. As the tears fall he tucks the note into his garb and picks the sword up, this time by the hilt. The blade scrapes against the floor as he lifts it up, raising it to the heavens as he continues to cry tears of passion. Queen Roma sits there, a bright smile spread from ear to ear as she watches him; and then, he screams. His voice reaches violent octanes as he stands there, the tears now cascading down his cheeks as he holds the Talliesllison high into the air.

"FOR KALHEIM!"


	3. Chapter 02: Forging Friendships

Chapter 02: Forging Friendships (14th of Mid-Year - 5e 152)

* * *

Five days. Five long, strenuous days have passed since Riroden and the army of Heltreid Kingdom left their beloved city behind, heading out of the kingdom and into their northern neighbor, North Shore. Their quest shall lead them to the city sharing it's kingdom's name, and to the Grand King Lorcan Bren-Gard Crom II himself. However, after arriving in North Shore early this morning, they have found themselves needing of supplies and rest, so Riroden announced that they would be stopping in the nearby town; Gilreich, the militant base of the Kingdom of North Shore.

Known for being the home of the kingdom's armies, Gilreich has become a strong force within the continental provinces first Kingdom. However, it's populous is not restricted to only those in the army and their families. Many from all over live in Gilreich for a slew of reasons, ranging from the security of living in an army-run town to the beautiful scenery just outside it's walls. It is a town of beauty and power the likes of which Tamriel rarely sees.

The armies of Heltreid arrive at the city gate nearing on noontime, exhausted and famished with hunger. The doorway leading into the town is guarded by at least a dozen armed men, and one abnormally angry looking Orc. As they approach, led by their Bosmeri captain, the orc walks forth, stepping straight up to Riroden with severe distrust in his eyes.

"State your name and business, traveler."

"Captain Riroden Orkraft IV of Heltreid Kingdom. This is my army, and we wish to stay in Gilreich for a couple of days to restock and rest. We are on our way to North Shore City to meet with the Grand King and help with the vampire problem plaguing Kalheim."

For only a moment, though it seems like an eternity, the orc stares violently into Riroden's very soul, squinting in an unsettling way. It's apparent that he still does not trust the Bosmer fully, and wishes to make sure his words are truth. The elf holds out the crest of Heltreid Kingdom, tied to the hilt of his blade. As the orc sees it, he nods and orders the guards to open the gate, after which he returns his gaze to the visitor and smirks.

"The name's Fir-Grog Gale, Captain of North Shore!" he proclaims loudly, as if trying to impress someone, "and I welcome you to my town! I will make it known though that if you wish to cause trouble, your head will be on the end of a spike within a days time."

"No worries, I wish not to do anything of the sort. I just wish to rest my weary bones," Riroden replies as he motions for the army to follow him inside. Captain Gale calls for his men to lead the Heltreid Army to the Empire Station, the main base of the North Shore military, and the towns biggest building. He then requests that Riroden walks with him as they too head in.

"So, I take it you're new at this," Gale notes, smirking arrogantly as he brandishes the handle of his giant war-hammer, "you smell of inexperience."

"You're correct. I am the adopted son of Queen Roma and only acquired this position days ago, after the death of my predecessor Helbar Fire-Catcher."

"Ah, I remember Helbar. We served together in a battle long ago. He was a fine man, and a strong warrior. Not to mention he had the appetite of a starved horker," he says with a heavy laugh as the two pass by the guard tower and into the market.

"Yeah, he always seemed to love mammoth snout the best at our annual feast," Riroden replies with a chuckle of his own, "is it true what they say about him though? All those heroic actions?"

"Not at all! He's been grossly exaggerated! A dozen frost trolls by himself!? HA! He had me by his side the entire time! I actually took out more than him!"

"What about the little bit about how he defeated the enemies after having all those arrows shot into him?" Riroden asks with genuine interest as they pass by a Dunmer selling some rather stinky fish.

"Again, no! He only took an arrow to the knee!"

The two share a laugh, climbing the steps to the upper level of the town. They continue their trek for nearly ten more minutes, passing by the Gilreich Library and a statue of Tiber Septim, more commonly known as the divine Talos. Another raised level of the city now sits before them, in which is the Empire Station where the rest of Riroden's men had gone. However, the elf turns to his orcish fellow-captain with an unimpressed look on his face.

"I don't mean to offend you, but do you mind if I take some time to have a look around town. I'm a collector of sorts and wish to see if I can find anything, well, interesting about."

"Not at all my friend," Gale replies, patting the elf on the back so hard that he nearly looses his balance, "take as much time as you wish! If you're searching for some rare objects, I'd check out the Khajiit shop by the Lumpy Troll. They usually get in some interesting items. Oh, and remember, cause trouble and you answer to me."

Laughing, Riroden thanks the North Shore Captain and turns, headed in the opposite direction, back towards the first raised portion of the city. Men and women of all creeds and races pass through the streets as he continues on. Passing by the library once more, he overhears a conversation between an Argonian of a sickly brown color and a rather perturbed looking Imperial woman.

"Can you believe they allow that filth to live in our city!? After everything he did!" the woman complains, resting her hands upon her waist angrily.

"Calm yourself Nilva," the Argonian amusedly responds, "you do not know the man of which you speak. I myself have visited his forge many times now, and am pleased by his amazing smithing. I owe my very life to the man, for if it weren't for his flawless Ebony armor, I wouldn't have survived that raid last week."

"Oh grow up Alua! This is the man who betrayed the Grand King! I heard he drinks the blood of elves!"

"You're telling me to grow up? Believing in stories like that only show immaturity," Alua replies with a throaty chuckle. Continuing on, Riroden glances back at the two curiously. This man they speak of, he had heard the stories as well. A man by the name of Serarro Viiren, Nord in birth. He was a soldier in the Grand King's army, but supposedly betrayed them and was banished from Frosthaven. While rumors such as the one this Nilva spoke of have floated around, he hardly believes them. Whatever happened, he's sure that he isn't hearing the whole story.

However, a man who can forge ebony armor praised by it's buyer is obviously a master of his craft. It intrigues him, and makes him wonder what else he is able to craft. After all, this dainty Imperial armor he's wearing will hardly last forever. He needs something of a higher caliber. Something worth it's weight in septims, and more. If this man can forge such armor, then he is definitely worth the visit, even despite his checkered past. So, as he travels up the steps, Riroden decides to pass the Khajiit's shop by for now, and head instead to the forge of this Serarro guy...one problem though, where does he live!?

Suddenly, right in front of him, the door to the Lumpy Troll opens, and the inn-keeper tosses a rather drunk looking old man out, yelling angrily. The man laughs, then hiccups, then laughs even harder. Riroden walks forth, wondering if this man might possibly know the location of the forge. As he steps up, the drunk man shouts out and tries to draw a sword from his belt, not realizing he doesn't have one. He then yells something about it being broken before falling over.

"Old man," Riroden says as he walks up to him, helping the guy to his feet, "do you perchance know where I might find Serarro Viiren?"

"I know how to open a gate to Oblivion! And I'm not afraid to use it!"

"Sir, can you please tell me where I might find this man. If you can help me, I'm sure I can make it worth your while," he says, puling thirty septims from his pouch. As he jingles them in his palm, the drunk man stares longingly, eyes widening dangerously.

"Serano Chirun?" the man says through a drunken hiccup, "yeah, I know the name. He lives by the front gate I believe. Has a pet dragon too. I see it flying overhead sometimes fighting with Clavicus Vile!"

Staring blankly at the man, Riroden sighs and tosses the coins into the air, sending him into a wild frenzy to claim them. The Bosmer then turns and begins towards the front of the town, hoping this information is true, all except the dragon and Clavicus Vile of course. So, as he continues on and goes down the steps to the lower level, he sees smoke billowing up from the front of the town, but to the west of the gate.

Reaching the end of his walk, he finds himself at a small, dilapidated house that reminds him of his shop back in Heltreid. On the end of the building is a small, personal forge; a fire burning in the pit. A man stands there, hammering away at the work bench. He seems very intent on finishing his work, and doesn't seem to notice or care about the elf now walking up the steps. Instead, he continues to form the metal on the table into a marvelous helmet.

"Good day sir, am I correct in assuming you are Serarro Viiren?"

"What, come to poke fun at the banished soldier?" the man grumpily asks, hitting the helmet hard and accidentally denting it. Some choice words escape his lips as he throws his hammer into the wall of the house, sending it right through. He swears again and storms up to his visitor with bloodlust in his eyes.

"What in the hell can I help you with!?"

"Sir, I only wish to know if you are the man I am searching for," Riroden replies, a smile on his face.

"Are you mocking me!? I don't want your kind bothering me! I'm done with those days! You got me, I'm done!"

"Mr. Viiren, I wish only for you to forge me some armor. I had heard that you are an expert in the subject."

Instantly, Serarro's face falls and he seems almost embarrassed at his outburst. Turning on the spot, he sticks his hand through the new window in his house and fetches the hammer, then tries to get the dent out of the helmet. He almost seems to be ignoring his customer, but then speaks again, quieter this time.

"What do you have in mind?"

"My name is Riroden Orkraft IV, I am the captain of Heltreid Kingdom's Army. I am on my way to meet with the Grand King and need armor strong yet light enough to allow me to fight against the imposing vampyric threat."

"Orkraft, yeah I heard of ya. You're Queen Roma's pet, right?"

"Son actually," Riroden replies, un-phased by Serarro's mood swings.

"Whatever. Why do you wish to work for that bastard anyway?"

"I've heard of your past with the Grand King, Serarro."

"No, you haven't. You've only heard the outlandish rumors that have been plaguing me for months now. I'm telling you right now that I do not drink elf blood!" Serarro growls, twitching furiously as he sets the hammer down to avoid another window being made.

"What happened then? If it's not too much to ask," Riroden asks, genuine curiosity shown on his face. Serarro stares questionably at his guest, but sighs and explains anyways, telling the elf how he had refused an order to kill an innocent child during a raid. His orders had been to take no prisoners, and to kill all he came across. He came to find the child alone in a room and couldn't bring himself to do it, and when his captain tried to do it himself, he stopped him, and slew the man right there.

"So you see, I was banished for having the guts to do what was right. That Grand King of yours is not all he seems to be. I've considered going to Skyrim at times, but I cannot abandon my home. Even with this travesty, I am still a Kalheinian."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Riroden smiles and says, "That was beautiful, man."

"Oh shut up," Serarro says, an actual laugh escaping his throat.

"Seriously though," Riroden replies, "you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your actions were noble and true. It was your captain who was wrong. However, I do believe that you blame the Grand King for the wrong reasons. Despite your protecting of the child, you still killed a man. I'd bet anything that that's why you were banished, not because of your supposed betrayal."

"I've come to the same conclusion honestly, but not all think like us."

"Serarro, I wish to make a proposition to you. I could use someone like you working alongside me in this fight. You're obviously a strong man with a kind heart, and Queen Roma values that above all else. So please, join me in the fight. Prove to the Grand King that you're still a worthy warrior."

His eyes almost seem to gleam, a new life coming into him that had not been seen by Riroden. It almost looks like he himself is going to cry, but instead, he suddenly lets out a wild shout of joy and thanks the elf with a vicious, bone-crushing hug. A few moments later, he lets go, leaving Riroden's now jello-like body to fall to the ground.

"Well, that didn't take much convincing," Riroden chokes out as he tries to return to his feet, "but welcome none-the-less. Oh, and by the way, what about my armor?


	4. Chapter 03: The Deathscale Blade

(15th of Mid-Year - 5e 152)

For miles around, not a drop of light can be seen. It had all been extinguished by an unexplained force, and not even the brightest of stars shines through. The thick canopy of trees seem to strangle the Nord as he passes between their massive trunks. Shadowed, he moves silently across the leaf stricken ground as silence roars. Suddenly, his face is illuminated by light emanating from his very hand; a candlelight spell. It's been only hours since that miraculous moment, and even he cannot believe what had happened. The man who broke him out, he seemed different, scary even. His eyes glowed red and his skin was sunken in. His voice, raspy and indifferent, still echoes through the man's mind.

Those days are far behind him now. All that matters is that he make it to the location where the note had instructed him to go to. He can't let those damned Imperial guards find him first, for the chopping block would surely await him. Quickening his pace, the Nord gazes forward, wondering if it would be better than traveling this far into the Woods of Shadows this late at night. Who knows what creatures dwell here; trolls, spiders, or even the dreaded shadowgoblins, who have claimed the lives of so many.

At that moment, the man finds that his simple little candlelight is no longer alone, for in a small clearing ahead, he can see nothing but bright illumination; much brighter than he can produce himself. He continues on, extinguishing his own light as he enters the clearing. All around him are orbs of magelight, encircling the small patch of unforested land. Then, he focuses ahead of himself, and stops. Over a dozen people stand there, all cloaked with hoods lifted. Their glowing red eyes shine through, boring into his very soul.

Directly in the center of the gathering sits a man, very much like the others, but at the same time, so different. He too dons a cloak of black satin, though his is drenched in dried, and fresh, blood; and at first, the Nord cannot see the source of the crimson liquid. However, as he slowly inches forward, he notices the body of what once was a person. A woman, most likely elderly by her size and barely visible wrinkles underneath the torn flesh. Her mangled form makes him want to puke, though he turns again to the man before him.

Hair as dark as night, and a face covered by a solid gold mask. His cloak is open displaying Ebony armor the likes of which he's never seen before. The size of the man is even more daunting, standing at least seven feet and having more muscles than a troll. He knows this is the master that his rescuer spoke of, so he bows in petulance to him.

"Up maggot," the Master speaks, his voice dark and stricken, as if his vocal cords had been burned from his throat. The man quickly does as he's told, and avoids staring into the man's eyes.

"What designation has your parents bestowed upon you?" the Master asks, blood red eyes glowing menacingly through the mask.

"Amos...Amos Cordier," the Nord replies nervously.

"Cordier, interesting. Tell me Cordier, did you complete your mission? Did you destroy the weapon?"

"My liege," Amos quietly says, "I did."

"Good, good. You have done your job well Cordier. Unfortunately for you, I no longer have any use for such a waste of space, and your blood is unworthy of serving my Master."

His heart stops. She just said "...my Master." Who is this person, for he is obviously not the one he had been told of. This is not the Master himself. However, before he can say anything, the mysterious person is directly before him, having moved at such a blinding speed. And in that moment, the masked person rips the head off Amos Cordier, spraying blood everywhere.

"Blessings of the moons upon you," a smirking Khajiit woman says as Riroden enters the shop, "I am Ashanta. What may I help you with?"

"Good day, I'm a bit of a collector and was wondering if you might have anything interesting for sale. I have the coin, and I'd like to see the best you have."

The smirk on the cat spreads as she gets to her feet, retreating behind the counter. She soon brings up a jeweled case, small in size but heavily rich in gems. Opening it, she removes a necklace, on the end of which sits a golden medallion, emblazoned with a giant sapphire right in the center. It captures the elf's eye and he watches as she carefully carries it up to him.

"This is the Medallion of Moltok. It is a lost artifact of many moons ago, carried by the king of the Falmer who died at the hands of Ysgrammor. It is said to expel frost magicka at it's holders enemies."

"Interesting indeed," Riroden replies, closing in to get a better look, "I expect a hefty price for such an item."

"Of course, no less than eight thousand septims," Ashanta says with a slight, throaty chuckle. However, to her surprise, Riroden calls for his men, who come in with a massive bag of coins, which they place in front of the Khajiit.

"There's over nine thousand in there, keep the extra."

"Who...who are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. In all my excitement I forgot to introduce myself. The name's Riroden Orkraft, son of Queen Roma Stav-Bringer," he replies with a smile before heading out, the medallion now in his hands. Minutes later, he steps up to the forge in the front of the city, finding his new friend Serarro working tirelessly.

Walking up the small set of steps, the elf takes a seat by the workbench and watches the Nord as he works the forge, molding the steel that will become the elf's personal armor. He removes the shell and places it onto the anvil, beginning to hammer it into a more suitable shape. He then notices Riroden, and smirks as he continues to work.

"You're early," he grunts, "I've not gotten it finished yet."

"I know," Riroden laughs, "I just wanted to watch you work."

The two share a laugh, but the elf soon gets serious, showing the medallion to the craftsman. He explains it's properties and asks Serarro whether it'd be possible to integrate it into the center of the armors chest, allowing it to provide a powerful counter attack. Serarro laughs, telling his friend that it's not only possible, but that it shall be done. So, Riroden hands him the medallion so he can begin to place it into the armor.

"Oh, by the way. I did finish your shield. Ebony black with glowing green veins like you requested, triple enforced, only the finest steel. It's behind the grindstone, if you want it now."

Intrigued, Riroden heads over to the grindstone, finding the large shield right away. It's beautiful, with an amazing design. Lifting it up, he realizes how heavy it is and drops it on his toes, at which point he proceeds to shout out loudly, making Serarro only laugh However, the moment doesn't last, as suddenly, screams pierce the Gilreich air, spoiling a perfect day. It starts off with just one, but soon escalades. All of the city is in terror, and that's when a loud crash shakes the forge, and wild cries of violence are heard. Captain Gale runs up to the steps, sweat dripping down his forehead and sword out.

"Riroden, Serarro! Gilreich is under attack! VAMPIRES!"

The captain barely has time to move, for neither of the two waste time in arming themselves for battle. They wish to defend the city, which Serarro calls home and Riroden has found solace in. And so they run; to the front gates of the town where both the guard from Gilreich and those who followed Riroden from Heltreid are in battle. Opposite them, the hooded fiends launching evil spells into the town. The three enter into the battle, heading right to the frontline.

Dodging spell after spell, they rush their enemies, swinging their weapons with extreme force and prejudice. A spell flies past Riroden's ear, hitting one of his men behind him. The soldier slumps to the ground, dead, but his elven commander has not the time to mourn his loss. Continuing on, sword piercing the flesh of many a vampire, he fights alongside his newfound friends. However, he knows that this cannot continue.

Too many men have lost their lives already, and the impact of the deaths has affected the elf. He's never been in this position before, not even in battle of any kind. He's not Serarro, or Fir-Grog...or his parents. This isn't his life. He is but a collector, not a warrior. As blood stains him, sprayed from the victims on both sides, he runs to the forefront of the battle, stepping between the two groups, at which point he shouts out louder than any other.

Strong shielding magicka spreads out from his hands, blocking the remaining men and women on both sides. They stop, staring in shock at the sight before them. This is a spell the likes of which they've never seen. He releases the spell and drops to his knees, suddenly exhausted. Neither side resumes the fight, they just continue to watch. Then, the leader of the attacking vampires steps forward.

Silver hair cut short and spiked slightly, a carved face with a chin-strap beard and glowing red eyes. His ash-grey skin reveals he's of Dunmer origin. He is well built, but not overly large in size, and is wearing armor made from Dwemer gold. He approaches Riroden with a keen interest in his eyes and a smirk spread across his face. His sword is not drawn, but instead awaits his opponent to rise again.

"Bosmer, it's been a long time since I've seen that spell. Has to have been about sixty years."

"Who...are you?" Riroden asks, breathing heavily, a cold sweat dripping down his brow.

"My name is none of your consequence. However, I will give you the honor of it on the condition that you tell me how you came to learn that spell."

"Someone," he answers, climbing slowly to his feet, "came to my shop once. A mage of the Great College. No swords, no shields, no jewelry. Just offered to sell me a spell. It was an odd idea, but I was intrigued none-the-less. I asked for a demonstration,. so I was told me to grab any blade I could and go for the head. I was hesitant, naturally, but after some assurance, I took an iron sword I was restoring and swung, fully planning to hold back and stop in time before I could lop off the head. As I got close, I saw a barrier of magicka erupt out, recoiling the attack and sending me flying. I agreed to buy the spell right away."

"Interesting; and did this man give you his name?"

"Not a man at all, a woman in fact. She said her name was Adlai if I remember correctly."

The vampire sneers suddenly and draws his sword, ready to kill the helpless elf before him. However, Fir-Grog runs forward suddenly, jumping in the way of the attack. Riroden's eyes widen as the blade slices into the orcs flesh, spraying blood everywhere. A laugh escapes the murderers throat, but only rage fills Riroden. That's when the elf, now back to his feet, moves at unnatural speed, thrusting the Talliellison deep into the heart of the maniacal fiend. Now his eyes turn to shock, mouth gaping open. He then falls to his knees as blood begins to leak from the sides of his lips.

"I promised to tell you my name Bosmer. It's Sochan Eincrad. Remember these words well. War soon approaches, and with it comes blood. The prophecy is coming true once more. Darkness will reign again. However, HE is not here to stop us this time. You will all die in turn."

With a final swing, Riroden removes the vampires head, ending him for good. The others retreat, and the townspeople cheer in victory. However, Riroden turns instead to Fir-Grog, who lays on the ground, body cut up and blood spilling out. He's on the verge of death, but hasn't reached it quite yet. His eyes flutter open and shut as he lays there in Serarro's hands. The elf drops to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he stares at the blank face of the North Shorian captain.

"Riroden...Serarro..."

The two nod their heads, telling the orc without unnecessary words that they're indeed there for him. They know he's at his end, and won't bother to tell him otherwise. It hurts so much to lose someone. It's a feeling Riroden hasn't felt since he lost his parents as a child. That emptiness in his stomach that nothing can fill. He had made a friend, and lost him in a day.

"I...grant you my...captainship Serarro. Riroden...take him to North Shore city. Bring him...to the Grand King. He doesn't deserve...to live like...an...enemy..."

The soul drifts from his body, and his eyes stare without seeing as Captain Fir-Grog Gale dies. Silence fills the streets of the town, and as one, the people carry their fallen leaders body away, ready to give him a proper burial in the towns graveyard. Riroden, however, stays behind. His focus remains on Sochan. Something about hearing Adlai's name angered him. It sent him over the edge and caused him to lash out, where he was so calm beforehand. How does he know this person, and what does he know of the spell? As he ponders these questions, he notices the blade in the vampires grip; an unusual weapon with a power seeming to emanate from it.

The hilt is made of a tough, scaly material, and the blade is double edged with a red groove down the center on both sides. The color seems to be stains of blood, not the natural color of the weapon itself. Taking it into his hands, the elf heads away from the scene of the grisly battle, wishing to forget the events that had unfolded. He doesn't want to experience this ever again. As he moves on to the Empire Station, Serarro runs back over to him, a deep gash on his arm. However, the Nord barely seems to notice.

"Riroden, you need to follow me," he explains, "Simon Erhart wants to see you!"

The two reach the building quickly, not having wasted any time in getting there. He had heard the stories of Simon. An amazing man who was hand-picked by the Grand King himself. He has never been a warrior, and most don't even believe he's ever held a weapon. No, this man was chosen for his intellect. He specializes in keeping the history of the lands, and even began the Historian's Guild. Riroden never thought he'd get to meet this man first hand. They run inside and into the Imperial's hall, where the man is waiting. He smiles as they come before him, and greets them with a simple nod.

"I'm glad you could meet with me. I am sorry to hear of Fir-Grog's death. He was a brave one, and a formidable fighter. He will be forever honored. I heard he named you as his successor Serarro. I will tell you this right now. I do not support this decision, and I do not support you. However, I will work alongside you as I did him. Now...wait. Captain Riroden! Put it down now!"

His head cocking to the side, Riroden stares at the man in bewilderment. Simon's eyes widen and he kicks the blade from the elf's hand, causing him to shout out in pain. Serarro looks at the man with surprise and anger, but doesn't approach him. Something seems wrong about this. Simon looked, well, terrified. Riroden glares at him with a questioning look, and Simon responds with rage in his tone.

"That it the Deathscale Blade! It is a cursed sword! Where did you get it!?"

"It was the blade the vampires leader used," Riroden explains, still rubbing his hand, "I claimed it as my prize for killing him."

"NO! You can't take that Riroden! That sword has a history! Everyone who's ever owned it has been murdered within a year of their first kill with it! Do not use that blade! This is far graver than you understand! For if this sword has resurfaced after all this time, only one person could be behind all of this."

"Who!?" Riroden and Serarro shout in unison. However, before Simon can answer, a crash is heard and a spear flies in through the glass ceiling above. Everyone watches in horror as it shoots straight into Simon, killing him instantly.


End file.
